


Morning Light

by jenni3penny



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: I had not yet written a “morning after” story, so....
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 12
Kudos: 128





	Morning Light

The problem was that she hadn't yet memorized which steps groaned and which ones squeaked beneath bare feet. She hadn't had reason to pay attention most any other time and the night before she had been far too distracted by his hands and mouth to keep track of which step was happy to call her out now that she was sneaking back down the stairs.

Not that she had any reason to sneak anywhere… though his absence from his bed had her slightly on edge. But she smelled strong coffee and sunshine on woodstain, the comforting combination drawing her down the stairs slowly and half assuring her of some sort of normalcy. _Hopefully_. She enjoyed the way the light fell slant onto the steps as she moved, incrementally rising up bare shins with each step downward. And she wasn't too worried about his disappearance. Not considering the early morning way he had welcomed her back from the bathroom, all long arms and a growling noise jammed against her collarbone. It had still been dark, three or four in the morning and she had been so careful not to wake him only to realize that he'd obviously been awake since she'd left.

_"You're cold."_

She had stretched into his touch and the rasp of his stubble on her throat, finding it surprisingly easier than expected to let him touch her, to meet his groan with her mouth and swallow it down into a lazy kiss. His hands had encouraged her closer, one strong arm curling her body so that his forearm laid flat to the scars that she would otherwise usually be so self conscious about. _"Well, I'm naked."_

_"That was the point of taking all your clothes off, Sloane. You're a beautiful woman."_

He was a dangerously charismatic man, to her anyhow. And he had pleasantly slid her back into sleep just with long kisses and encouraging touches, patience in his fingers as she had fussed and curled up closer.

Now she was staring at the front door, head tipped as she watched the mid-morning sun glitter sideways through the glass. Everything in his house was a kaleidoscope of angles and lines, light or shadow. There weren't a lot of soft curve in-betweens. Made some sense, considering the man. All black or white edges, no hazy bits. Rules, regs, and absolutes.

"If you're gonna run you should probably have pants and shoes on."

Her body startled slightly but she didn't move otherwise. She continued to watch the sun a moment, breathing in its calm steadiness before responding. Something in her said that the light could bolster her a little, maybe take the edge off her nervousness. So she took it in, trapped it into her chest under a deep and encouraging breath. "I wasn't running anywhere. I was watching the light."

"Yeah, me too."

She turned to side-eye him for being so heavy handed with the charm but kept her mouth shut when she saw the relaxed and happily sincere look on his face. It wasn't a smirk, really, not the normal Gibbsian half cocked smile that she was used to seeing. His face was subtly pleased, still sleepy around the edges of his eyes. She could see that even past his reading glasses. He had his coffee paused half up his chest, steaming up under his chin. His dark Marines hoodie, jeans and the sneakers told her that he had likely managed to leave without her knowing it.

"You left?"

He deflected by lifting his cup and subtly nodding toward the kitchen. "Come get some coffee. Hungry?"

She was starving, actually. But also slightly terrified. Her whole body was right on the edge of panic, somewhere wedged between Fight or Flight (likely _Freeze_ ). The physicality of the night before had now transformed into the emotional reality of the morning after and she wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate it with a man like him, one who let his actions speak more than his words did. She was unsure of him and his casual stillness, even when she would otherwise be comforted by it.

" _Hey_ ," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders and half circling the cup around in front of him as he said, "it's just me, Sloane."

It _was_ just him, standing relaxed and sleepy beside his own dining table in sneakers and jeans. It was _him_ , the domestic Sunday morning version of the man who had so expertly gone down on her the night before when they were supposed to be watching a movie. There was nothing he hadn't seen or touched or tasted and she met those blue eyes, forcing herself to breathe through the shock the sudden easy smile gave her. It was such a boyishly warm grin, his eyes full of humor while he lifted his cup in her direction, stepping closer.

"Drink."

The cup got closer to her mouth and that simple act of him impatiently prodding at her to drink something, that guarding need to take care of her while she was obviously nervous… That told her everything she needed to know about the morning after with Jethro Gibbs.

"Tar in a cup?" Jack teased, voice quiet, still slightly unsure of itself as she leaned her chin forward and studied his cup.

"C'mon. Get your legs under you," Gibbs encouraged quietly, the lip of the mug up closer to her mouth as he whispered it. His voice was barely sound but sweet regardless. She leaned into his movement and took a small swallow as he tipped the cup and grinned. She'd braced for strong coffee but was surprised when it was smoother than expected. He had obviously pulled his proverbial punches when he'd made the first pot.

What a goddamn gentleman…

“Good,” he gently encouraged, voice so sincere that she smirked at him, brow arched. He pulled the cup back and took a drink himself, never taking his eyes off hers and not wavering a bit. Jack purposely lifted a hand to keep them somehow physically connected, rubbing into the fabric of his hoodie even as he stepped back toward the chair.

"World News and the Arts sections are out for ya." He waved his empty hand out over the dining table and she smirked as he fidgeted, half watching him slouch back into his seat as she pushed at him to relax. Jack judged how far she would have to go to slide into his lap and took a half step right, fingers tapping the table before she rounded on him and watched as he set his coffee down.

He arched a brow as she leaned in, obviously aiming for his lap and not giving him much of a choice either way. He had put her at ease and she planned to take advantage of that feeling or the intimate heat he was offering as his palm skidded the outside of one bare thigh. "Touch the crossword it'll be a fight you won't win."

She hummed acknowledgment of his supposed threat, nearly rolling her eyes at his warning. Her hand caught against this shoulder and shoved back, glance lifting from where he'd set her favorite parts of the paper aside. She straddled his lap carefully, slowly, biting down as calloused palms took the backs of her thighs and pulled for the fourth or fifth time in a stretch of twelve hours. He was most certainly a leg man and that delighted her, made her smile.

"You could share, you know?" she demanded, leaning against his collarbone and forcing space between his chest and the table. He made just enough room to draw her down tightly onto his lap, his fingers then tugging into the white Fruit of the Loom shirt she had surreptitiously fished out of his immaculately organized top dresser drawer. "We could do it together."

He lifted his hand in a silent response, foregoing words and brushing her hair back from her face instead. His full palm covered her cheek and she shut her eyes, leaning her head into the movement and letting her lungs go loosened at once. Her left hand lifted to catch his right shoulder as he leaned forward under her, the shift of his shoulders triggering an arch in her spine. She dipped her head, though, blindly meeting the kiss he was lifting toward her.

Her hand dug into the thick fabric of his hoodie, pulling him up and in. He kissed up hard, confident in the movement as his fingers dug into her hair and kept her tucked close. She kissed him slowly, lazy in her exploration of this newly intimate version of the man she already adored. He was patient with the soft kisses and her fingers traveling down his cheeks, up the back of his head, back down his neck to his shoulders. She let him nibble on her lower lip as one of the long kisses ended, a sigh stroking out of her that had him immediately groaning to match. The reverberation went through her whole body, humming as she leaned her forehead against his and lifted her fingers. Her thumb wiped along his bottom lip and she felt him reflexively dig her down deeper into his lap.

"We could do it together, _if_ you wanted to stay." It was an offer, not an expectation. There was no guilt in his tone of voice while she brushed her fingers down his cheek, just an assurance that she hadn’t realized she’d been looking for from him. But it was there, in the soft way he spoke to her while they were alone together.

"Why did you leave?" she questioned, gripping up the sleeve of his hoodie in her fingers. "You weren't worried about me waking up to an empty house?"

"I was more worried about you waking up and realizing there wasn't any sugar in the house. You should stay.” Gibbs lifted a kiss up under her jaw that had her sighing and slumping forward, groaning as she snuggled in closer to him.

"My feet are freezing,” she pouted against his shoulder, feeling and hearing him chuckle beneath her.

It was the first laugh she had gotten from him that morning and she sat up from his chest to properly enjoy watching it. She soaked in his pleasure proudly, grinning without intending to, eyes on his as he nodded. “I'll get you some socks."

"Well, then I guess so," she murmured, one shoulder rising and her chin ducking coquettishly to meet it. He answered the flirt, tugging her closer by the fabric of his own pilfered shirt. "How much sugar did you get?"

This time the grin was sexy, prowling, a match to the one he had given her the night before. She was ready for it this time. "More than enough."


End file.
